Eyes of the Damned
by csishewolf
Summary: The threads of fate intertwine us all - no man is an island, even if he wishes it were so. (A 'Luke's Life As A Hermit' Story)
1. Shadows of the Past

**DISCLAIMER:** Star Wars and all characters; names and related materials are Trademarks of and Copyright of Lucasfilm, Ltd. This includes characters identified with the films produced as part of the 20th Century Fox studios, Walt Disney Studios, Bad Robot and all published worked recognized by Lucasfilm, Ltd. (In other words, they're not mine.) There is an OC that is pivotal to this story – and she is mine.

 **WARNINGS:** This fic is rated T, however it addresses multiple adult topics. One is related to mental health – please be cautious when reading this if you are sensitive to stories involving depression-related emotions and behaviors.

And now, without further ado, here is my take on what our dear Jedi Master Luke The Hermit has been up to for the last 15 years.

* * *

I was sixteen when I first saw him. He came into my uncle's store in search of supplies, and he was like nothing I'd ever known. Our village isn't small, but the males within it are all cut from the same cloth. Tall, thick, and built for tending the land we live on. They are variations on a common theme, none of which were kin to the sandy haired man in black I saw that day.

He oozed an air of quiet confidence, perusing our store casually with a trained eye. I gawked at him from afar, partially hidden behind the tall shelves lined with baskets of fruits and vegetables. When his eyes eventually connected with my own, my mind was filled with an aura of blues and golds that shone with blinding intensity. It was that aura that branded my brain and sent me tumbling head over heels for him. He was clearly different and hence designated in my teenaged mind as 'special'.

At the time, I was desperate for such commonality and immediately categorized him as similar to me. In hindsight, I was correct, but back then I genuinely didn't have any idea who or what he was. I just swooned like any other hopeless teenage female when she finds a male she favors.

You see, I am 'special', too. My sensitivities and my ability to see the auras of others are a well-kept secret, and for good reason. Few know, and only my grandmother fully understood it. The people of my village frown on such things, as they are a small-minded and superstitious lot. Hence the other burden I bear, but I digress.

The man spoke calmly, making his small list of needs known. A consummate professional, my uncle tended to him quickly and within an hour the man was gone from the store and my life. I fantasized about my man in black for months, dreaming he would swoop down to rescue me, whisking me away with him into the stars from whence he came.

My aunt and uncle would hear none of it, despite my statements about his lack of the common green/brown auras my people emit. I swore he was special like me; perhaps I could learn from him. I wouldn't quit pestering them. I begged and begged for them to contact him for me. Eventually my uncle lost patience and forbade me to speak of him again. He even went so far as to threaten me with an Outcast if I continued with such nonsense. The man in black was not special, he did not know I existed, nor would he ever know. I was pursuing something beyond my station and they would tolerate my insubordination no longer.

My uncle's bellowing was effective. I cried in my room for days and then moved on with my life.

Five years later I married. Josel was kind and brilliant and genuinely cared for me. He was a member of the Counsel, along with his father and my uncle. I spent my days tending to our homestead or assisting him with his research. It was a comfortable life for us. Josel tried many times with me to produce an heir, but the Fates would not allow it. I would lie patiently beneath him, as time and time again he would strain against me, willing his seed to take root and provide him with a son.

It never happened. After three years, Josel stopped his attempts and lay with me no longer. He instead devoted his time to his work and his studies, pouring his life into data pads and computers. He continued to be kind and courteous towards me, but I knew his family whispered the rumors into his ears. How he shouldn't have married me. How my line was cursed and destined for torment and pain.

Those rumors started many generations ago, but were fueled by events in my childhood. My mother died two years after I was born. My mother's mother had died in a similar way, never quite recovering from childbirth. My father, who loved my mother dearly, fell into despair. My grandmother tried to protect him, to pull him from the darkness, but eventually he became lost within it and wore the Eyes of the Damned. The Eyes took his life one month after the Fates took my mother, and I was left in the care of my aunt, uncle and grandmother.

The Eyes are not mentioned in my village by anyone – only my grandmother spoke of them to me and swore me to secrecy. The Eyes are not something that most can see. My grandmother claimed that I would be able to see the Eyes, given my gifts. That the ability ran in her family.

"Never let yourself fall prey to them, Jas'kah. You must always have hope. Hope is the key to keeping them at bay. The Eyes of the Damned will bring death to those who wear them. Your father was not strong enough to fight them, and his gifts were as powerful as yours. The Eyes prey on those who are different; you must be wary during times of turmoil and strife. Above all, you must not lose hope. Promise me you will not lose hope, Jas'kah!"

I swore to her, repeatedly. After she died I wondered if all she had told me about the Eyes was real, or if they were just the delusions of a lonely old mother who grieved the loss of her favorite son.

I learned that all she said was true on the day the man in black returned to our village. He had plodded into the store and approached the counter, addressing my uncle. I was only in the store that day because Josel had been away that week at a trade conference. I had been helping my aunt and uncle with the yearly task of documenting the inventory. It was convenient timing, and earlier I'd wondered if Josel and my uncle had planned things that way.

The man was draped in a dark brown hooded robe that was torn along the bottom edge. He wore the same dark garments my adolescent memory recalled, only now they were rumpled and worn, not crisp and clean and elegant. His hair was longer, dulled to a muddy brown of varying lengths. His skin was the pallor of the sick, his face smeared with unkempt unshaven growth.

There was a tension in the air around my uncle as he spoke with the man. I left my ledger on a nearby stack of boxes and went to join them - childishly eager to once again see the blues and golds of the most unique aura I'd ever known.

What I perceived from his gaze made me gasp aloud, and earned a sharp stab in the ribs from my uncle.

The man in black, my beautiful heroic fantasy man, wore the Eyes of the Damned. His aura carried no colors at all, only the jagged edges of the deepest grey. I stared straight into that sea of crystal blue and knew he saw nothing of me. He saw nothing at all.

A deep sense of fear overcame me as I understood my uncle's behavior and tone. His long, lean hand shook slightly as he entered each requested item into his data pad. I was too cowardly to leave, yet felt awkward in staying. I listened as the man explained what he needed and why. He was going to set up residence in one of the abandoned Cavities within the Losatian Cliffs. No one had lived in the Cavities for decades, and for good reason. The heat from the ground within fluctuated so greatly that the Cavity was either freezing or boiling. The winds across the Cliffs were so strong they would tear your hair from your skin. The suns were too close, the stars too far. Why would anyone in their right mind want to live up there?

Insight struck, blazingly clear. The man was going to the Cavities to die. My heart broke for him, emotion welling in my eyes and blurring my vision. My uncle noticed my distress but misunderstood it.

"Jas'kah – you have inventory work to do. Leave us."

I did leave. I turned and left the counter, my footfalls the pattern of a utilitarian march. I didn't stop until I reached my home, and didn't let the sobs fall until I softly closed the door behind me. I wept, long and deeply, while leaning against that door. I wept until there were no more tears to shed, no more loss to acknowledge.

Then I stood up, dusted myself off, and vowed never to succumb to the Eyes of the Damned. I could not see my own aura, but I would never let it dim and grey like that. The Eyes may have taken my father, and they may have taken that man, but they would not take me.

Two months later, the storms arrived. The weather in our village had always been arid, making the cultivation of crops difficult and forcing us to rely on off-planet traders and the distribution of goods as our means of survival. Our planet was one of only a few in our system that catered to interstellar travelers. The Empire discovered us many years ago, and we were freed from its grasp once it collapsed. The New Republic left us alone, as we required little from them and they from us. I overheard from other off-worlders that areas of our planet were lush and green, suitable for times of rest and relaxation. I found this odd, since the rains rarely came to my village. Our winters were cool, our summers warm, the epitome of balanced weather that crops should thrive in. Yet the lack of rain from our cloudless skies left our soil barren and cracked. Until the storms changed everything.

You would think we would relish in the improvements in our ecosystem, it did wonders for our harvests. But we were unprepared. Our houses could not handle the deluge and many leaked. The older homes were nearly washed away. Lightning was an unfamiliar concept and in the first few storms, animals and a few people were killed.

Josel and the Counsel met for weeks on how to solve the problem of our insufficient infrastructure. My husband's creativity brought about the four towering metal poles that stand at the edge of each corner of our village. They attract the lightning and keep it from hitting our homes. Our houses were fortified or rebuilt with stronger materials designed to withstand the rain and wind.

It was a mixed blessing. We were able to cultivate our land and produce many crops of various uses, our largest export being rough material for textiles. But we used the money from the sale of those items to fund the improvements to our village so that we didn't float away with the next impending storm.

They had no discernable pattern. Weeks would go by without a single drop. Then suddenly a deluge would come and it would last for days. It was a transformational time for my village – the fear of losing all we had struggled for spurred new ideas. Josel's lightning towers were excellent, but another member of the Counsel recommended we create cisterns to store the water underground.

Many went to help build and install the cisterns. Josel was one of them, and it was during the install of the last cistern that he died. His father told me that Josel had miscalculated the stability of one of the platforms and it had collapsed, crushing him beneath the pyres of metal and wood. People later told me he was killed instantly, as if that would somehow make his death easier to accept.

A piece of my soul shattered that day as I stood in my kitchen, listening to my father-in-law's choked and halting words. I knew I had lost more than the kind husband who cared for me. I had lost the ability to have the child I never fathomed I'd want, the one the Fates refused to give us. I had lost my way of life.

Within weeks I also lost my home. Josel's family never cared for me and claimed they needed to sell the home to resolve his debts, debts I was completely unaware of. Resigned to my fate, I moved back into my old room in my aunt and uncle's apartment above the store, and returned to the dreary life of shop keeping. Each night I cried for what I lost, and chastised myself for doing so. I did not want the Eyes to latch onto me in my moments of weakness and despair.

A stiff breeze could have knocked me over when I saw the man in black walk into our store again. I had not seen him for over a year and assumed him dead. I can't imagine how I appeared to him as I gaped at him from behind the counter.

He looked worse than before. The hooded robe was now patterned with holes, his clothing beneath even more crumpled and threadbare in places. His movements were droid-like, on autopilot. He gathered some foodstuffs, some basic toiletries, and a new power cord adapter. All this he brought to the counter, head down, the hood obscuring his features.

I was desperate to make eye contact, yet couldn't bring myself to do so. I fought the urge to lift that hood, to peer into those depths of blue I so fondly remembered. I was insanely curious why he wasn't dead. Had he fought the Eyes? Prudence won out in the end - I conducted his transaction in silence, bundling his purchases into two bags. He placed a handful of credits on the counter, took his bags and left.

The man in black would visit the store for supplies once every other month or so. It took time for me to speak to him directly, but as I had nothing better to do with the rest of my life, I worked up the courage. Occasionally I would get him to look up at me from under his tattered hood, and hauntingly I would confirm that he still carried the Eyes of the Damned within him.

I felt a deep sorrow for him. Death would have been better than the constant agony upon his soul. I wondered why he didn't end it all and surrender himself to the Eyes. They must be clawing their way through him, destroying him bit by bit.

Four years after I lost Josel, my aunt took ill. The growth of our village and the creation of a formal spaceport on the opposite side of the planet had brought alien things into our world. New races, new languages, new parasites and pathogens. My aunt succumbed to one of them within two weeks of exposure, and another section of my soul left with her – leaving me hollow and drained.

She was the buffer against my uncle's rash abrasiveness. She was our homemaker, doing all of the domestic cooking and cleaning of the store and the apartment above. Those chores would now fall to me, something I did not relish at all. My uncle aged years within days at the loss of his soul-companion. His once dark hair streaked to solid white. His eyes lost their glow, but the color of his aura remained. Dimmer perhaps, but still alight with greens and browns.

I suppose I aged as well, but as a confirmed widow and the token bad luck charm for the village, my appearance mattered naught to me. No one would be calling for my hand, and I now had my uncle to care for as well as the store.

Those next years were hard ones, the joy my aunt provided gone from my world. I didn't realize how much of it she brought to us until her absence made it apparent. I wondered if I would ever truly feel a love like hers again.

There was a single positive during that time – I discovered cooking. There was a science to it as well as an art. I researched off-world cuisines and learned to mix our locally grown ingredients with imported foodstuffs. We had herds of nerf on our lands now, and I experimented with their meats. Some experiments were failures. In fact many were completely inedible. In the beginning, my uncle wailed at me over the wastefulness of good food prepared poorly. His complaints lessened as my skills improved. When not tending to the store, I spent my time immersed in research, leveraging the techniques I learned from Josel on how to connect and communicate with the galaxy in order to learn different cooking methods and cuisines.

One night over dinner, I brought up the idea of creating a small tap café within the store. It did not go well. Mostly there was a great deal of yelling and banging of his fists against the table, but beneath it all was the clear fact that my uncle did not want the store to change. Ever. He and my aunt built it that way, and that's the way it would remain.

I chafed over this. The village had adapted to change and grown from it, why couldn't we? Our profit margin would be much higher if we had the additional income. Barely making ends meet was not ideal – there is a difference between surviving and thriving.

I told this in rebuttal to my uncle and his rage doubled. He proceeded to rake my character across the coals, claiming I never appreciated him or my aunt, how I always wanted more than what I had. He claimed I didn't appreciate Josel or his family, which is why they abandoned me after Josel's death and returned me here. He claimed I appreciated nothing, and it was due to the craziness in my head that both his brother and his mother were cursed with.

"It killed them, and it should have killed you by now too. It is toxic, that power you hold. It causes suffering to those around you, and if it is my lot in life to deal with it, then by the stars I will deal with it only on my terms!"

His words left me stunned, the tears frozen against my lashes. I could feel his anger in my mind, violent spikes directed towards me and everything my gift represented.

Without a word, I turned and left the dining table. In a daze I went to my room, grabbed my coat, and proceeded down the stairway to the store and finally the street. I wandered aimlessly, lost in thought. My uncle was all I had in this world, and he wanted nothing to do with me. I was a burden to him. I was a burden to our village. I tilted my head upwards towards one of Josel's lightning towers. I had accomplished little during my lifetime, contributing nothing to my family, Josel's family or my community.

I jumped in horror as an arc of lightning hit the tower I was studying; the earth-shaking boom of thunder that followed a scant second later nearly stopped my heart. Huge drops of rain began to pelt down upon me and I ran for cover under the nearest overhang. My thoughts were only of survival as I fumbled with the knob on the door nearest to me. There was a hair-raising crackle that sent my senses ablaze as I saw a brilliant flash streak by to my right. The cacophony of sound that followed it was deafening and I stumbled against the door. I had to get inside, fast.

I banged on the door, and when no one answered, ran to the next. By the fifth door I encountered a young couple that were newly settled within the village. They knew little of the rumors about me and shuffled me quickly inside. The wife was the nurturing type; she wrapped me in a towel and gave me some hot tea as we waited out the storm. The power cells within their home flickered as the storm raged on. When it became apparent that it wouldn't let up anytime soon, the couple settled me on their sofa with a pillow and blanket, and tucked themselves into their bedroom for the evening.

I held back my tears, remembering my life with Josel and how he would have wrapped his arms around me and kept me safe during such a night. I thought of my grandmother's words – to have hope. I was running out of things to hope for.

The next morning dawned clear and dry. I thanked the couple profusely and encouraged them to come and visit the store where I could thank them properly. I considered baking them something with the fresh berries that I knew would be ripe in a few days. Thoughts of crusts and berry combinations were on my mine when I turned the last corner home.

A crowd was standing around the store. Confused, I pushed my way through until I saw that the back half of the store and the upstairs apartment were in charred ruins. Instinctively I knew it was that lightning strike from the night before – the one that raised my hair and burned my teeth.

I hollered for my uncle. My father-in-law came towards me, the crowd parting to give him room.

"Where is he?"

"Jasz…" There were cold tears in his eyes as he told me about the fire. How it burned out of control, fueled by the aged insulation within the walls of the apartment. I felt the stares of the people around me, sensed their horror as I again proved their rumors and beliefs to be true.

I pushed past him and studied the remains of the store. The shelves were dripping, all the products ruined. The beautiful counter and all my aunt's decorations on the walls behind it were now a blackened, warped mess. My uncle would never again stand behind that counter, nor any counter. Nothing remained of my life or my family but ashes and ruin.

I fell to my knees, dimly hearing my father-in-law's voice as he said the Counsel would help me rebuild. That I could stay in the basement of the Counsel building until the repairs were completed. There were echoes in the crowd, full of pity and charity. Volunteers offered to help with the services for my uncle, generous souls speaking of donations of clothing and food. These people loved my uncle for his service to them, loved my aunt for the happiness she brought them. They loved Josel for his intelligence and leadership. But there was no love for me in their words. They would help because of them and them alone.

The last shred of hope I had for my life fragmented into dust. Raw emotion filled the void: fear of the future, anger at the past, hatred towards myself and what I'd become. I felt the world dim around me and I didn't care. Everything became distant, unreal. There was nothing but the tempest of emotions and me centered within them. They swirled around me in spirals, dulling my senses and bringing a welcome blindness of the world around me.

I don't recall leaving the store, but I must have done so. I don't know how long I traveled, or why I climbed the Cliffs to the Cavities, but I did and that is where I stand now, mere feet from the edge of the highest drop-off.

I am shivering from the wind howling around me. It rips at my clothing and scatters my hair into wiry tendrils that snap and sting. My mind is awhirl with blackness, my heart and soul screaming for something, anything to stop the chaos and suffering.

I take a step. The blackness in my mind deepens, urging me forward. I take another. It will be easy to do this. The pain will end and I won't be a burden to anyone any longer.

I lift my foot, dangling it over the edge, the wind whipping against the fabric of my skirt. I start to lean forward and the survival instinct within me starts to scream, warning me to stop. But the temptation is undeniable - the whispers are calling for me and I must heed their cries.

I'm shocked out of my stupor by a strong, cold hand as it yanks me back from the edge of the cliff. I'm spun around and find myself nose-to-nose with the man in black. His face has aged, the growth of his beard full and wild. His muddy hair is long and matted, peppered with grey. But the brilliant blue of his eyes has remained. I feel his gaze pierce my soul – a bond forming between us as we are both blinded and therefore connected within the Eyes of the Damned.

There is surprise in his thoughts as he recognizes me for who and what I am. I can see myself in his mind for a split second, the tattered swirls of grey that must represent my soul.

A defiant fire burns within me at the image – a white-hot surge that refuses to be ignored. The man also senses it and I feel the same flare within him.

He gently places his other hand against the back of my neck and pulls me closer to him. Slowly he lowers his head, touching his forehead to mine. I feel his light scour through my mind and my soul roars within it, refusing to be smothered any longer. It is my will to fight, my will to survive. I lean into him, pushing my forehead against his. Our hearts beat as one as I see the darkness shatter into oblivion, speared by our inferno of brilliant white.

There is a moment of emptiness, vast and hollow, a void waiting to be filled. I register it for a scant second before my body surrenders and collapses me into unconsciousness.


	2. Strength of the Present

**Disclaimer:** Just a reminder that they are not mine.

* * *

I wake in the medical facility of our village, quiet monitors beeping and humming around me. There is a whiff of bacta fluid and heavy-grade disinfectant in the air.

My monitors seem to have alerted the medical droid, as it shuffles to my bed and urges me to lie still as I try to right myself.

"Do you know your name," the droid asks in monotone.

"Jas'kah." I struggle with the word, my voice cracked and brittle.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Medical ward?"

The droid nods. "Do you remember what happened prior to being here?"

I scan my mind and pain erupts within it. The storm, the loss of my uncle, the destruction of the store and my home. Then, the haziness of the Eyes dimming my vision. The sheer cliff wall, the wind … and the man in black.

I sit up abruptly, immediately wincing as the room spins around me. The man in black. He saved me. He fought off the Eyes of the Damned with me.

"You must rest," the droid tells me.

"No." I try to look around slowly, allowing my inner equilibrium to recalibrate as I move my head. There is no one in this room with me. The other three beds are empty. Where is the man?

"I don't remember how I got here," I say pointedly to the droid. "What happened?"

"Rest now," it replies. "Rest and soon someone will come for you."

The droid must be confused. No one is coming for me.

I learn I am wrong. People do come for me. My father-in-law and mother-in-law come first. They appear to be humbled, although I'm unsure why.

They tell me little, but wish me well. My mother-in-law replaces the dead flowers next to my bedside with new ones. I am touched by the gesture and curious why they are pretending to care.

Others visit me – customers from the store. They tell me more than my in-laws. They explain that the remains of the store have been removed, leaving the rectangular lot empty and awaiting my decision of what to build there. My mind boggles at the thought; nothing in my life has ever been just my decision. They do hint that they would like for the store to return. The other markets in the village do not cater to the specialized off-worldly orders like we did, and the people are having difficulties procuring exotic spices or other such items from the other vendors. There is the murmur of an idea in my mind, a plan, but I am too weary to dwell on it for more than a moment.

I remain in the medical facility for the remainder of the week, eating bland food and growing increasingly restless. My mother-in-law visits every day. She stays briefly, talks little, and replaces the flowers on my nightstand.

When she arrives today, I ask her, "When can I leave?"

"Soon," she tells me, avoiding eye contact.

"Mohten said I could stay in the basement of the Counsel building. Is that still true?"

"Yes." She stares at the floor and fidgets with the ruffles of her skirt. Her voice drops in volume. "You may also stay with us, if you like."

My eyes widen. "Oh?"

"Yes. Mohten and…others feel that it is more appropriate for you to stay with us during the rebuilding."

Something within me rumbles. I do not wish to be dependent on them or anyone any longer. "I will stay in the Counsel building," I tell her. "I can manage."

I leave out the submissive echo in my mind that claims I do not wish to be a burden to them. But then I realize it is more than that. I want to be able to support myself. I will need the help of the Counsel, and I will need time, but I will rebuild the store and my home in the way I choose. It will become mine and mine alone.

The conscious acknowledgement of my first step towards self-reliance ignites a fire within me. I can do this. I will do this. There is no reason why I cannot.

My release from the medical facility is met with little fanfare. The same applies to my relocation into the basement of the Counsel building. The room is small and contains only a single cot overlapped with appropriate bedding. Empty shelves line the walls, the coatings of dust outlining the items that used to be stored there. I give a small sigh and make my way out of the room to the refresher facilities down the hall for supplies to clean my new home. I tell myself that life in a storage closet is temporary. It's a good thing too – as the lack of cleanliness in the refresher is downright horrifying.

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

It takes a month for the construction process to begin, and the estimated time to complete the new store is approximately three more. I am humbled by the donations of time and materials from the community and vow not to let their efforts be in vain. I insist on assisting in the construction, much to the dismay of my mother-in-law. We have a terse discussion on the topic that doesn't go well. My father-in-law intervenes, surprising me by taking my side of the argument. I am unsure why, but grateful just the same.

I find early on in the building process that the traditional skirts and blouses I've worn all my life are not appropriate for the toils of labor. I order new, foreign clothing - the female versions of boots, pants and shirts. They are restricting at first but I learn to appreciate them and plan to order more once the store is up and running.

One afternoon, as I'm pounding away on the support structures while five others are welding and cutting, a chill runs up my spine. Given the warmth of the sun beating down on my shoulders and my sleeveless tank, I doubt it is the weather that has caused the sensation. I stop my work and scan the surroundings, brushing the dirt from my arms. My skin has darkened from the sun, and the dampness of my sweat seems to attract each particle of dust, encouraging it to cling to every last pore. I do not look my best, nor do I care, until I see the cloaked figure at the far end of the street.

It is the man in black, although it appears I can no longer refer to him as such. His attire is different now – the cloak is pale brown and he wears a white shirt and mud-colored pants tucked into black boots. The hood masks his face but I can feel his eyes upon me. I freeze in the moment, recalling his touch against my forehead, his presence in my mind. I blink and he is gone, the trail of his cloak rounding the corner to disappear behind the homes the only indication he was ever there.

Many questions flood my mind. Why was he here? Did he move to the village? Why the change in clothing? These are minor compared to the most pressing question of all – What happened up there on the Cliffs after I lost consciousness?

I spend the rest of the day lost in thought. Distraction does not become me, as I smash my thumb more than once. I attempt to focus on the task at hand, but the questions remain, murmurs in the back of my mind.

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

The opening day of the store is filled with excitement. Many of the village has come out to celebrate. I scan the crowd for my man in black as I cut the white ribbon tied across the front doorway, but I do not see him.

All who attend wish me well as they cross the threshold, scanning the new interior. I make station behind the new shop counter, pleased at what my village and I have created. The storefront area is smaller, the shelves and compartments filled primarily with items from off-world. That is what the villagers need and that is what I will provide. High tech equipment neighbors exotic spices and herbs. There is an area for produce and other fresh goods, but as there are other grocers in the village, I chose not to be their competitor. Instead we are talking of a collaborative cooperation to ensure we all prosper. The meetings are in their infancy, but there is traction to them. Many wish me to take the lead for the cooperative and become a Counsel member, but I am hesitant to do so. I would be only the second female Counsel member, and I would prefer to focus my attentions on the new tap café section I've created along the longest wall of the store.

My heart swells with pride every time I see it. I cannot wait for the last of my appliances to arrive so I can begin my new journey in preparing and providing food to the people of my village. There are so many recipes I want to try, so many conversations I want to experience as people sit in comfort and enjoy my food.

I'd like to think that my aunt and uncle would be proud of what I've become, but a part of me is mired in doubt. My appearance has changed; I am hard and firm where I once was soft and doughy. My hair is short where it once was long, my clothing form-fitting where it previously was loose and flowing. I catch the odd stare from some of the old-timers, but the majority of my customers seem ambivalent. Then again, they are more interested in my wares than my looks. A sense of normalcy returns as the day wears on. I process their purchases with practiced ease, mimicking the consummate professional my uncle once was. It is comforting to them to know their needs are being heard, and it is a comfort to me to finally confirm that I can continue the traditions my family once valued. I spend that first night in my new apartment above the store snuggled into starchy white sheets and a pale blanket. It is the best night's sleep I've had in years.

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

Three months later, before the suns rise, I am behind the tap café counter, pouring stimcaf for my regular early morning customers. There is a new communications tower being built a few clicks away, and the crew has to be on site early. No other place is open at this time, and when I overhead their conversation one day as they were ordering supplies, I agreed to open early for them.

I enjoy their dry banter; it is a refreshing start to my day. They are a mix of locals and off-worlders, and they are all male. Their brash humor is amusing to me as it is very much the opposite of everything that Josel ever was. Who knew males could be so free-spirited and entertaining?

I am frying nausages in back, listening with half an ear to another round of ribald jokes, when the chimes above the door to the store ring. I wonder if this is Sorani. I made good on my word to do right by her and her husband after they housed me from the storm that night. They were struggling to fit into our village and needed the income. I hired Sorani to tend the store for me two weeks after the tap café opened. She handles the basic transactions and any stocking or cleaning the store requires. Ultimately she is doing my old job. I do the complex research and purchases, and I tend to the tap café single-handedly. I've never felt more alive in my life; the increase in profit margins an added bonus. If I am lucky, I will be able to repay the town by the end of the year and own the store free and clear.

I peer through the open alcove between the kitchen area and the store, expecting to see the auburn waves of Sorani. Instead I find the dun-colored cloak of my man in black. My body and senses stiffen at the sight.

He approaches the tap café area hesitantly and stands for quite some time before finally settling himself at the furthest stool at the counter, tucked in the corner nearest the rear of the building. He does not remove his hood and appears to be waiting patiently.

I turn the nausages down to simmer and cover them to keep the moisture in. With an air of confidence I do not feel, I walk through the half-height doors and approach him.

"How might I help you?"

He is slightly restless, his body shifting slightly beneath the cloak. When he does finally speak, his voice is clear and a note lower in pitch than I remember. "Are you familiar with Tatooine cuisine?"

"Yes. I am cooking nausages now and was considering preparing some dustcakes. I also have H'Kak bean tea." I pause, waiting for a response from him, but none is forthcoming. "Would you like some?" Again I wait in vain. This is silly and my one-sided conversation is attracting the attention of my regulars. Either he orders something or he has to go. "I'm afraid…"

"Yes," I hear him murmur. "Please."

Okay then. "I'll have the tea for you shortly," I tell him in my professional, polite tone.

I hand him the steaming cup minutes later with no comment. It disappears under that hood as he drinks. The last of my regulars is leaving, bidding me good day and good profits. Sorani is still not here yet, and I hide in the kitchen to avoid interacting with the man. I do prepare his dustcakes, adding a touch of spices that I think work well to flavor the meats. I serve him three cakes along with four of the nausages and leave him to his meal.

Sorani finally arrives and I go to greet her. She raises an eyebrow at my new and unusual patron, but I give her a stern look to dismiss her curiosity.

"He's okay. I'll handle him."

Sorani nods and we return to shop talk – the tasks needing completion, the orders arriving and requiring processing. I'm attempting to teach Sorani the financials, but it isn't going well.

My man in black makes a slight cough and I realize I've abandoned him. Mollified by my rudeness, I return to him, clearing his plate and utensils away. Ever aware of my role as a hostess, I politely ask, "Is there anything else you would like?"

He shakes his head in a negative, the hood obscuring the movement, barely discernable. For some reason, this sparks ire within me.

"I can't see what you're doing when you hide under that hood." I scowl at him. "I don't understand why you insist on wearing it indoors."

I know instinctively I've provoked him. He raises a hand, a metallic biomechanical hand I never noticed he had, and flips the hood of his cloak back. The steel blue of his gaze meets mine, and a half-shriek of horror escapes my lips. His dirty plate drops from my grasp to the floor, shattering into many pieces.

He is still within the shrouds of the Eyes of the Damned.

I step away from him and he cringes at my movement, returning the hood to cover his features. I glance at Sorani, but she is focused on a datapad, oblivious to her surroundings.

"How…?" I ask.

His voice is cold. "How what?"

"How is it that you still carry them? I thought…you defeated…we defeated them."

"Defeated whom?"

I scan the store. There is the early light of dawn, innocent and distracted Sorani, and no one else.

"The Eyes of the Damned," I say in a harsh whisper. I have never spoken the words aloud before.

This sparks amusement within him and he barks a choking laugh. "The Eyes of the _Damned_?"

Embarrassment and humiliation pour through me, reminding me of my last days with my uncle. I shake my head, willing them away. I am not that person any longer.

"Okay, what do you call it then?" I ask with a snarl. "The darkness that haunts your gaze and eats at your soul? Don't deny it isn't there – I can see it as plain as the daylight."

His brows furrow. "Wait, you can _see_ it? See it within me?"

"Yes. You wear them. They dilute your aura to greyness and cloud your vision. Do you not know this? I thought…" My voice trails off. I thought he understood what we were doing, what we were fighting.

He studies me intently. "Interesting."

There is an awkward silence between us. Somehow I have become different to him. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" His tone is softer, gentler.

"That I was different. Special. I have a talent to see the auras and sense the emotions within people. I thought…" I lower my words to a whisper. "I thought you saw that up on the Cliffs."

He then lectures me with words I struggle to understand. "I saw you as a Force-sensitive who was being pulled towards the Dark Side, and it was making you suicidal for some reason." He lets out a small sigh, as if in regret. "I couldn't let you kill yourself, so I did what I could to help clear your mind so you could focus better."

His next words growl defensive. "I don't know why you passed out. What I did shouldn't have hurt you."

He doesn't know. He doesn't know nor understand that without him, I'd be dead. "You didn't hurt me. You saved me. You were a hero."

My announcement unsettles him; I can almost sense a rippling of embarrassment mired within his rejection and disdain of my words. He stands quickly and places a handful of credits on the tap café counter. "Thank you for the meal." He leaves my store, the swirl of brown agitated by his speed.

I blink at the empty stool and the shattered plate scattered at my feet. With cautious steps I maneuver around the shards and return to the kitchen for the whiskbroom and dustpan. The remnants of the plate are quickly removed, but the remnants of our conversation hover within me for the remainder of the day.

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

A week passes before he returns to my store and tap café. Our dialogue is stunted, he requests his Tatooine fare and I serve it to him. My prior words to him have found fertile ground, as he removes his hood when he eats. I note the changes immediately: the evenness of his beard, the highlights of blonde amidst brown and grey in his now-clean hair. I wouldn't say he has taken pains with his appearance, but he has made some effort. Intrigued, I study him from the kitchen in silence, curious. Did I have an effect on him, or did something else cause this improvement?

Pragmatism fights with age-old teenaged fantasies, with logic winning out in the end. I mean little to the man, and he is naught but a paying customer for my store and my food. Intriguing yes, but no more than that. I watch under hooded eyes as he leaves without a sound. After the door chimes to indicate its closure, I go to clear away his dishes and check for payment. He has left a goodly sum, much more than necessary. I divide the payment between my fair share and the overage, storing the excess within a small empty box that once held metal cylindrical washers. If and when he returns, I will give the excess back to him. I do not want his charity.

He does return, again in a week's time. Once I serve him tea I return to the kitchen and retrieve the small box containing his credits. I pause at the half-height doors, debating whether to confront him on this issue. Warning bells are tolling in the back of my mind, urging me to accept the kindness and leave the man alone.

"Why you standing there, Jasz?" asks Tobiaz. Tobiaz is another regular; he works in the Security Team established by the Counsel many years ago. He is one of the senior members of that Team, having been on it since its inception. His brown eyes are studying me with puzzlement, the wheels in his head trying to comprehend my somewhat abnormal behavior.

"Oh, daydreaming, I guess," I tell him. My warning senses are wise – now is not the right time for having such a conversation. I return to the kitchen and prepare the Tatooine food yet again. I also brew a new pot of stimcaf and once it is ready, refill Tobiaz's cup. He adds half of the small carafe of cream to his cup, nearly overflowing it. He slurps the diluted stimcaf down in 3 sips, and bids me good tidings. He's off to protect our village, and I'm alone again with my man in black.

If ever there was a time to talk, it is now. I retrieve his meal and carry the small box under the plate. His eyes do not meet mine as I serve him, he merely picks up his utensils and starts carving away at his dustcakes. I place the box under the counter closest to him, prepared to return it to him once he's finished. I gather the small, rolling stool I keep tucked away and settle myself upon it. I stall for time by organizing paper products stocked nearby, but given my penchant for neatness, there truly isn't much for me to do.

I am glancing at him repeatedly, wondering why it takes him so damn long to eat his food. After what must be my fifteenth peek, he bangs his utensils against the counter and sighs loudly.

"What do you want," he states condescendingly.

I am not amused.

"I want you to finish your meal," I snark in reply and am immediately surprised at the harshness of my tone. Why does he spark this response in me?

"It's tough to eat when you're hovering like that. What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you about this." I turn the stool to face him and push my way towards him. When I am finally across the counter from him, I place the box with the extra credits in front of him.

His eyes shift from his plate to the box, and then finally rise to meet my own.

It is still shocking, to see the Eyes hovering within him. But I steel myself and meet his gaze. "You left this the last time you were here."

His brows furrow. "I didn't leave a box."

"No, the extra credits. You left entirely too many."

Those furrows shift to deep creases. "Those were for you." There is hurt in his words – I've offended him.

"I know, and…" Now I feel silly. Why couldn't I just accept his gift? "Look, it feels inappropriate, accepting that much money from you. I didn't do anything special to deserve it."

"You made me food," he states quietly, his gaze returning to the plate in front of him. "Good food." His voice is low, almost shy. "I was thanking you."

"I make everyone good food. They do leave a little extra, but not like what you left."

There is the tension of miscommunication and misunderstanding in the air, but I am at a loss of how to clear it. Moments pass and I do something I would never, ever have had the courage to do before. I reach out and touch his hand. The real one, not the claw of metal and leather.

There is a tingle in the back of my mind as my skin contacts his. He feels it too. His face lifts and the sea of blue I see in his eyes is deep and turbulent, the Eyes merely a thin film to hold back the storm. Something crackles between us, making my head light and my pulse quicken. I jerk my hand away and the tingles recede. He reacts as well, tucking his hand under the counter and breaking eye contact. The hood is flipped up a half second later.

What in the stars was that?

Through some miracle, I find my voice. "I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."

His voice is tight beneath his shroud of muted brown. "No. But you did."

"I didn't…I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." I sigh heavily and share with him as much truth as I can vocalize. "I am sorry. I would like for us to be…well, to not be awkward around each other."

He pauses before replying, his words a lonely whisper. "I think I would like that too."

My insides do a little leap of happiness, and I am surprised at how easily I again feel like that giddy sixteen-year-old girl. I take a deep breath to regain my composure.

"Why don't we compromise? Today's meal is on the house, and I'll keep your gift from before. Deal?"

I hear the smile in his voice and can almost feel it in my mind. "Deal."

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

He returns the following week. I politely nod at him as he removes his hood, noting again the slight improvement in his appearance.

"The usual?"

"Yes, please," he replies with a slight smile.

I beam at him in return. This is progress.

When I am clearing his plates away, I notice his left hand absently resting on the tap café counter. The urge to reach out to him again is strong - to touch, to feel the awareness of him again in my mind, but I cannot bring myself to do it. Instead I look to him for guidance, perhaps I am fantasizing and he is oblivious to it all.

I can tell in an instant he is not. He is watching me beneath downcast eyes, a hint of desperation in is his gaze. He _wants_ me to touch him. I place his dishes off to the side and roll the stool out again to sit across from him.

Hesitantly, I wrap my hand around his. The tingles return, stronger this time. I watch as his hand moves under mine, turning slowly until our palms touch, then our fingertips. His fingers are longer than mine, and thick where mine are slender. We are both mesmerized by the contact, ripples of attraction heightened by the anticipation for what might happen next.

His fingers start to curl between mine when the chime of the door followed by the shouts of voices shatters the haze around us and forces us to return to reality. A trio of workers has entered, and they're hungry for their breakfast. I withdraw my hand from his, the separation almost painful in my mind when we break contact.

"Duty calls," I tell him, my voice overly cheerful. I avoid his gaze – I am entirely too frightened by what I might find there. This is all a little overwhelming and I'm genuinely unsure how to handle it.

But customers I can handle. "How might I help you gentlemen today?" I ask in my bright professional tones.

I am scribbling down their orders when I hear the door chime again. I look up to see his hooded silhouette framed in the doorway. The hood turns, and I can feel the heat of his gaze from across the room. I blink and he is gone. But whatever is between us isn't over. I wonder when, not if, I will see him again.


	3. Hope for the Future

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine. Having fun playing with them, though!

* * *

Sorani scowls at me while I continue to pack more supplies into the large green tote. Her hand flexes slightly over her distended abdomen and I know she worries I will not return.

"Relax, Sorani. You act as if I will be gone forever."

"Won't you? I see how you look at him, that off-worlder. I see how he looks at you too. What if..."

"I told you," I interrupt. "I'll be gone a week, or even less. He needs to go to a different planet in our system. We're not even entering hyperspace."

"And you are not going to stay with him?"

My heart pangs at this, but I keep my voice firm. "No. He has … work to do." This is an understatement. If what the specter of his past said is true, he is about to engage in something larger than all of us.

I shake my head slightly to remove those images from my mind. Sorani is still peering at me, so I gesture, sweeping the store and tap café with my fingertips. "So do I."

"I see. You will leave him there, alone, on this other planet, and then what ... you become a space pilot overnight and fly back here, all safe and sound?"

I sigh, a tad dramatically so it appears that I'm downplaying the risk. "His ship has an autopilot and a homing device. It will return me right back here." My words are infused with a confidence I do not feel. I definitely do not know how to fly any type of spacecraft and despite his assurances that I'd have 'help' if anything went awry, I am still very unsure how this little mission of his will play out.

The entry chimes of the front door distracts us from our quarrel, and the cause of their activation drives us into a stiff silence. Sorani's scowl deepens as she acknowledges our visitor. She does not understand - she wasn't there that night. She didn't see the Force, the power, the storm within him that has now finally passed. I didn't tell her of it either, as I still can't quite make sense of it all myself.

I meet his smiling gaze as he walks towards me. There is lightness in his step and a sense of purpose about him. The Eyes are only a flicker of grey within his now-bright aura – the beautiful blues and golds I craved as a teen are once again returning to surround him in their glow. He said afterward that he would never be able to purge himself completely from what he calls the Dark Side. That a little of it will live within him forever – the price he must pay for his sins. I disagree with him. I did so then and silently I do so now. Wisdom I didn't have a mere two days ago has flooded me with insight. The last traces will disappear once he fully opens himself up to forgiveness – from others and from himself.

He peers nosily into the tote, bristling with energy. "This is perfect. Anything else you can think of to add?"

"Just a few more things I think you'll need," I tell him calmly. "You'll just have to patient for a little while longer." His eyes darken slightly and I turn from him quickly to hide the rising heat on my cheeks. I didn't mean it _that_ way!

Sorani sighs loudly, a hint of a growl in her voice. "Well, if you need me I'll be behind the counter. You know, the one _you_ normally stand behind. In _your_ store."

He raises an eyebrow in unspoken question and I give him a lopsided grin in reply. When she is out of earshot, I whisper to him, "She doesn't approve."

"Really? I thought I'd be a pretty good catch for a woman someday." He winks and I bat at him playfully.

"She doesn't know who you are." My tone grows serious. "I don't plan on telling her either. Heck, two days ago, I didn't even know who you really were either!"

His words are flecked with disdain. "No. I guess you didn't."

I approach him slowly, and take both of his hands into mine. "I knew you were kind, and hard-working, and sometimes, even charming." I squeeze gently against his good hand and he returns the gesture, the happy grin from before slowing re-appearing. "What I didn't know was the depth of your strength, your courage, and the size of the burden you seem to have obligated yourself to carry."

I step back, making a point to study him. "It was impressive then, and it is still impressive now." I lean in and gently kiss him on his cheek, right above those prickly whiskers of his.

"You are quite an exceptional man, Luke Skywalker. Try not to forget it when you are off on those islands, okay?"

He grows quiet and I watch him carefully. He was so full of guilt and regret that it seems habit to him to continue to assume responsibility for everything that goes wrong in the world.

Honestly, if that's what it means to be a Jedi, I'm not having any of it, no matter what he says.

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

My knuckles are pale as I grip the small seat within the spacecraft's cockpit. There is a stale odor of unused electronics and dust-laden oil. The controls have been wiped down but bits of unrecognizable debris lurk within the small cracks and crevices. The glass has been cleaned – I managed that myself – and for all intensive purposes, Luke's ship is worthy of flight.

He is fussing with the controls as we glide across the land towards the stars. I can still see my village, but is rapidly becoming a mottled smear along the landscape. The Losatian Cliffs loom ahead, jagged knives that slice into the skyline. A whimper escapes from my lips at the sight of the cliff's edge at the highest Cavity. Twice I've faced death there, and the memory from just days ago leaps to the forefront of my mind.

Luke hears and perhaps even senses my distress. He clasps my hand in his, the cool metal somehow soothing against the heat and sweat radiating from my palm.

"It is not a place to fear," he says softly. "You'll need to return there with your people to set up the equipment – like I showed you before we left."

"I know."

"Don't be afraid – anything that remains of the Dark out there will not hurt you. Obi-Wan saw to that."

I think back to that night and shudder. For him, it may all be normal. Not so for me – that night changed my world forever…

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

Predictability brings safety and builds trust. Reinforcement breeds strength and time encourages growth. It was inevitable that my man in black and I would become friends. The attraction remained, but somehow we'd reached an unspoken agreement not to act upon it. Perhaps the constant interruptions of patrons at the store and tap café, in combination with Sorani hovering around every shelf corner, are what kept us in check. I did eventually learn his first name, and he mine. He struggled with the audible subtleties of my nickname, calling me 'Jazz' instead of 'Jasz' - repeatedly.

His name was odd to my ears as well. 'Luke' isn't quite what I expected. I had fantasized a much more daring name – one that suited my idealistic image of him. Over time I got used to saying it, although I used it rather sparingly.

His presence in the village grew in parallel to our friendship. He began to help us. He showed us different irrigation techniques for our crops, and different ways to construct our homes. He had a casual but worldly air about him – that demeanor combined with the hidden depths of his intelligence charmed the Counsel immensely. They never quite recovered from the loss of Josel and Luke's guidance and engineering were most welcome.

I was content with life and for the first time, felt a glimmer of happiness and hope for what might come. I had respect, I had stability, and I was quickly gaining wealth. No longer was I viewed as a bad-luck charm or an outsider. I had rebuilt myself, just as the store was rebuilt. The people in my village spoke kindly of me now, many times likening my skills to those of my uncle, and oftentimes showing appreciation for what I now offered that he did not.

I also had Luke, and he was becoming more the man I remembered from my teens as each day passed. The pale cast of his skin was soon colored into health by days spent outdoors under our suns. His body filled out – mostly due to my cooking, I assume – but there was strength within him as well. Gone was the pallor of sickness and frailty. However, the Eyes remained. I chose not to speak of it, yet I wondered why they still clung so tightly to his soul. Rarely did he go to his refuge up on the Cliffs now. If he did, it was to bring something down into the small flat one of the Counsel members offered to him as thanks for his wisdom in resolving a dispute with an off-world trade organization. He did keep the dun-colored robe, much to my chagrin, but overall he took on a more formal and stately air. It suited him.

The day of the storm was like any other for me – open the tap café, chat with Luke and the other patrons over breakfast, prepare for lunch, help Sorani, serve and socialize with the townsfolk the remainder of the day. Unbeknownst to me, Luke was spending the day with the Counsel on a tour of sorts, examining the cisterns with the intent of building a smaller version within each individual home. Rain had been scarce this season; water was becoming a concern.

It was along the return road from the cisterns that Luke and the men from the Counsel ran into the two boys. Both probably weren't more than eight or ten years of age, and they clashed and hollered loudly in their swordplay – swinging staffs of Iola wood at each other for all they were worth. One wound up knocking the other to the ground, causing the fallen youngling to cry and cower in fright.

That night, one of the most severe storms we'd had in decades began.

Mohten braved the deluge early the next day to come to my tap café, looking for Luke. He told me of the incident with the boys, and how Luke's demeanor changed; he just walked away from the Counsel and disappeared into the streets. The counselman who lived next to Luke's flat comm'd Mohten in the morning to relay that Luke never came home. Mohten was worried for Luke's safety in the storm. I grew concerned as well, but didn't want to distress Mohten.

"He's lived here for many years. He is intelligent and knows how to protect himself from the storms. He is helping us to protect ourselves better, isn't he?"

"Yes, that is true." Mohten's aura seemed to relax a bit. "I know you and he have a … relationship of sorts. Please keep me informed if you hear from him. He has become important to our community these past few months."

Despite the flush that crept up my jawline, I kept my tone casual. "He'll be fine. Who knew you'd become such a worrier in your old age, Mohten?"

With no further words and a narrowed brow, Mohten left my counter and returned to the raging winds and rain. Once he was gone, I decided to close the store for the day and wait out the rain upstairs. I comm'd Sorani and told her not to venture out, but she had no intentions of doing so anyway.

I stared at the tiny rivers coursing down the large window within my bedroom for many hours that day, watching the lighting crackle between the rooftops and the thunder shake the buildings to their core. I was waiting, but I knew not what for. Something about this storm was different, and fear grew within me as the hours passed. Something was very wrong, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what.

When the muted daylight finally receded into darkness, I gave up my vigil at the window. Visibility was muted at best; as the panes of glass were washed so clean there was only a blotchy smear of the village apparent through them.

With a slight rumbling from my stomach, I turned and headed to the kitchen to prepare myself dinner. In my worry, I had neglected to eat all day. When I crossed the threshold of my bedroom door into the open living area, I ran smack into it. A ghost.

My scream was loud enough to raise the dead, and it certainly startled the glowing blue figure standing near my table. He leapt a good 6 metres into the air, passing through my settee and landing near the kitchen counter.

"My stars!" it said clearly. "You certainly have a significant vocal range! Do you normally speak so loudly?"

"No," I rasped, "normally I talk like this."

"Oh, well that is good to hear. I don't know if I could have handled our conversation with shouting like that."

The ghostly man was rubbing at his ear rather vigorously, the dark brown sleeve of his cloak shaking slightly at the effort. I gaped at him for a few moments while he went about composing himself, straightening his shirt and adjusting the cloak and hood until he was satisfied with his appearance once more. His attire was eerily familiar - it was nearly the same style as Luke wore.

I felt the mental gear click. "You are here about Luke, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Perceptive, I see. Yes. I am an old friend of Luke's."

"Clearly you are very old, given that you are dead. How is it that you are here – are you and Luke part of a race that lives on after death?" The concept was fascinating – humans that could live forever as ghosts!

"No, no. Well, not quite. Sort of. Hasn't Luke told you about the Jedi yet? About what happened?"

 _Um…no he had not._ "I'm afraid you'll have to enlighten me. I've heard of Jedi though – mystical creatures with magic, right? Are you one of those?"

"Oh dear," the ghost replied with a slightly wispy sigh. "This is going to take a little longer than I had hoped, and we really do not have time."

"Time for what?"

"You need to go to him. Now. I'm here to help you so you can help him. He needs you."

My eyes narrowed so drastically I felt my brows touching. "I need to go to Luke in the middle of one of the worst storms ever … to do what?" Panic hit me. "Is he hurt? Why didn't you come to me sooner if he was hurt! Tell me where he is – _now!"_

"Calm yourself, my dear. He is not physically hurt. It is his soul that is suffering, but you already know that, don't you?"

The Eyes. "Yes, I know."

"Come here," he said, reaching towards me. "You'll need this."

I stepped towards him. His weathered, intangible hand made actual physical contact with my forehead. The brightest and most intense Light I'd ever seen exploded across my mind, bringing with it a sense of peace and _rightness_ that made me gasp at the beauty of it all.

"That is the Light Side of the Force," I heard in my mind. "The Eyes, as you call them, are the Dark Side of the Force. Luke has both within him, and the Darkness is winning today. Luke witnessed many a great evil during his lifetime, but there is one particular event that has scarred his soul. Guilt, fear and anger have festered within him for many years now, allowing the Darkness to permeate and linger within him. Yesterday he witnessed something that triggered those memories and emotions to flood his senses. I fear he may be lost if he is not reminded of the Light."

Images accompanied his words: a dark figure striking the old man down. Then a young Luke, coated in sweat and screaming in pain. Another: the dark figure is dead, and Luke lights the funeral pyre. A woman and a man smile at him as they hand him a tiny infant. Children run amongst a cobblestone garden, playing happily.

The final image was cast in shadow. Rain, as thick as that which fell that day, flooding a grass-filled field. Bodies laying in the mud and a tall, masked figure in black stands over them, wielding an angry red glowing blade. The blade slashes again and again through more bodies…many of them children.

The ghostly hand retreated and I blinked myself back into reality, tears streaming down my face. There are no words for what I felt in that moment.

"He is a Jedi," the ghost told me. "He is Jedi Master Luke Skywalker and one of the last remaining Jedi known today. A long time ago, the galaxy needed him. Soon, the galaxy will need him again – to usher in the age of peace and prosperity that he is destined to bring forth."

The ghost paused before saying, "You are integral to this. It is unexpected, but true just the same. You must bring him back to the Light, and you must do it soon, or Darkness will rule us all, forever."

My tears were scratchy on my cheeks and I shivered at his final words.

"I am nobody," I told him with a sob. "I can't possibly be what you say."

"Are you now?" he asked in a chiding tone. "Are you certain?"

Light again flared in my mind and I saw myself before a figure surrounded in white-hot energy, bolts arching from him in random, sharp contrast against the blackness around us both.

"It's him. I see him." A large ripple of fear sent me into shivers again. "How can I approach him? He'll kill me."

"That is something you must figure out on your own. I've helped you all I can and I must go now." His last words trailed off as I saw him start to recede and fade away.

"Wait, where is he?"

"Look inside yourself – you know where he stands."

He was right. I knew exactly where Luke was and I needed to borrow Sorani's scooter if I was going to make it to him in time.

I raced to my closet and put on the warmest jumpsuit I owned as well as the water-repellant overcoat and matching boots. Even if I got soaked, at least I'd be warm. On a whim I grabbed the lined gloves I used when re-building the store and put them on.

The rain blasted me when I opened the back door and made my way to Sorani's home. I didn't even ask, I just entered into her vehicle shelter and took her scooter. My jumpsuit's hood flickered in the wind as I flew up the trails towards the Cavities on the Cliffs. Lightning crackled around me, scorching the open ground and shattering small boulders into sand. Fear was lumped in my throat as I eased the throttle forward. The sooner I got to him, the sooner this will end.

When I could go no further on the scooter, I climbed the remainder of the way on foot, my gloves and boots helping me to find traction on the slippery rocks and mud of the Cliffs.

My trip took hours, and I was soaked to the core when I finally cleared the last hill to the highest edge of the Cavities. It is the same ledge I stood upon over a year ago, and I saw his silhouette in almost the exact same spot.

He was naked to the waist, great scars I never knew existed marring his back. They pulsed with an unholy light as wave after wave of energy originated and then exited his body – the arcs of lightning directed by his outstretched hands into the clouds and mist beyond the Cliffs.

I realized it was no longer raining – there were the blinding swirls of wind and a bitter metallic taste to the air, but no rain.

I can't explain how, but in a single instant I finally understood what, or to be more accurate, _who,_ brought the rains to our region. The knowledge dropped me to my knees with a keening cry. It was his fault that my uncle is dead. His lighting destroyed my home and forced me into the Eyes of the Damned. His storms killed many people within my town. If he hadn't come here, none of the tragedies of the past years would have happened at all. We wouldn't have the lightning towers, nor the cisterns, because we wouldn't need them…and Josel would be alive. It was the memory of Josel's death that sent me into a frenzy. I screamed at his tortured inhuman body, the raging wind choking my words in my throat. " _Why? Why did you do this to us?_ "

He heard me. I don't know how, but he did. He lowered his hands and turned to face me. What I saw before me redefined the meaning of horror. His eyes glowed with a deep, evil red and his aura was nearly black. His body was coated in the sickly blue-white light of the toxic energy emanating from him. It crackled loudly and I saw the arcs flickering between each metallic finger of his right hand. Fear froze me, leaving me kneeling on the ground before him.

He said nothing, but his waves of guilt and despair wracked me to my core. They mingled with my own and I gagged on the filth and stench of evil. The Darkness within him rippled with power and anticipation as I whimpered beneath his gaze. I could not look away as he stood before me, an unholy demon of a man.

Time ceased to move forward. It was me and him, and it was a battle of Light and Dark.

The Light gifted to me struggled to shine – it was clouded by my own anger and sorrow at what I'd lost. I heard the ghostly man's voice within the fading white glow, "… but … what have you gained?"

Gained? I'd lost so much... Unbidden memories come to the forefront of my mind. The day of the ribbon cutting is clear before me. It fades to bring forth the day I asked Sorani to work for me and she hugged me in sheer joy. Images of examples of Mohten's and the Counsel's respect. Tobiaz chugging the milky stimcaf each morning. The people of my village and their patronage of my store – laughing, talking, living.

And Luke. The aura of blue and gold, the poise and grace of a man who was once one with his world. That day on this same cliff, Eyes within us and binding us together as one. His Light driving the Eyes from my soul. His fingertips entwined with mine…yes, I had gained a great deal since his arrival.

"No…" I growled as I struggled to stand. There was a cackle of evil; a weight pushing down on me that seemed impossible to overcome. The Light flickered and I wondered if it was strong enough…until I realized that it was not a gift of Light that was given to me, it was awareness.

The Light was my own. It was me and it was always within me. I felt my courage flare and I although I could not see myself, I truly _felt_ as if I was drowning in my own power. I stood easily then and faced the blood-eyed demon that had consumed the one man I'd always loved.

"You can have him no longer," I told the Darkness within him. "I am here to return him to the Light."

I cradled his head in both of my hands, the toxic blue-light energy searing through my gloves into my bones, but I did not let go.

I did as he did and brought his forehead to mine. The connection was instantaneous and I saw myself shine in his mind. The Darkness cowered and retreated when I released my Light, every corner of black within him fading to grey and then to nothingness. The process took but a second but seemed to last a lifetime. The emptiness that remained was vast, with a tendril of the slightest light remaining. It was familiar, and I knew how to fill it.

I spoke to him aloud and in his mind. "You are not evil. All that has happened – good or bad - was meant to be. You blame yourself for things that were never within your control. Your life is intertwined with thousands of others - a giant web of interconnectivity that no one thread can possibly control. Let go and live the live you deserve - a life full of love and forgiveness. I forgive you, Luke. And I love you."

I felt him reach for me, so I pulled his entire body close to me and steadfastly refused to let go, no matter what might happen next. The evil blue-white glow burned but faded rapidly in my embrace. The snarling of the wind quieted and left the Cliffs peaceful and still. I watched the faint tendrils of dawn begin to glow along the eastern horizon as I held him in my arms. He lifted his gaze to mine, eyes clear of crimson and rimmed with blue once again. I sighed instinctively before pressing my lips to his. Finally acting on our attraction was intoxicating for both of us, and we were lost in the moment until there was a slight cough from within the nearest Cavity.

Luke clearly wanted to ignore it, but I turned my head and Luke wound up with a face full of my ear and the damp spikes of my hair. I quickly learned he had a penchant for improvising when he nibbled on the very sensitive spot along my neck. I growled and turned to face him, until I heard the cough again, a tad louder. I turned again and saw my spectral visitor standing slightly inside the cave opening.

"Look, it's your ghost friend again."

Luke finally snapped out of whatever stupor he was in and noticed our visitor. His reaction was immediate and tinged with disbelief. "Obi-Wan?"

"Hello Luke. Apologies for interrupting, but please trust me when I say there will be time for that later."

"Obi-Wan..." Luke stood and walked over to the glimmering image. "I...I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Obi-Wan replied. "Did you not listen to your friend here? Things are in motion that are beyond your control. I must say I am greatly pleased that you have decided to return to the Light. Forgiveness is crucial to the path you must follow. As is love." He nodded respectfully towards me. "Thank you, my dear - for showing him both in such an eloquent fashion." Focusing back on Luke, he continued, "What you need to do now is return to your original goal."

"The First Jedi Temple?"

The ghost nodded. "You are closer than you might know - it is on Ahch-To, a planet within this system. You need to go there, and I'm afraid you will need to hurry. An Awakening within the Force is coming - you will know it when it occurs. The individual responsible will come to you, and she will be the key to the final restoration of balance."

"She?" Luke glances at me, but I shook my head vehemently. Helping Luke heal is one thing, restoring galactic peace and serenity is something else entirely.

"You will know her when you see her. She will not be unfamiliar. Go to Ahch-To and find the largest island. Remain there and wait for her. She will come, and she needs you."

Luke wraps his hand around mine. "I need to go alone, don't I." The resignation in his words is crystal clear, but Obi-Wan nods confirmation anyway.

"You two have little time left together, I'm afraid. I will leave you now but don't hesitate to call on me again." The ghostly figure begins to fade away exactly as he did in my home.

"How?"

"Ask your friend," he replies before disappearing into the dark shadows of the Cavity.

Luke sighed heavily, a long, drawn out affair. "I hate it when he does that."

"I'm not too happy about it either," I tell him. "I have no idea how to make him reappear again."

~~~~/*\\*/*\\*/*\~~~~

My thoughts return to the present as we cross the planet's atmosphere and head off into the dark vastness of space. I look down at the kaleidoscope of color that is my home planet, and my heart soars at its beauty. No wonder people visit for rest and relaxation.

"Years ago," I murmur softly "I dreamed you would fly me away into the stars and take me with you on your many adventures."

Luke lifts his head from the controls. "Really?"

"Yes, when I first met you - as a teenager."

He studies me carefully. "That must have been a very long time ago. Before...well, everything that happened."

I nod, feeling wiser about him than ever, yet burdened by the weight of his story. He and I talked for hours that morning after the storm. It was a cleansing of his soul, in a way. He told me everything - from the time he met Obi-Wan until the time he came to live in the Cavities. It was a long and difficult story to tell - the murder of his students by his nephew clearly the most painful. I cut him off before he went into great detail - I knew enough and had seen enough from Obi-Wan to know what that kind of betrayal and cruelty meant to him. Intriguingly, I found that with each word he spoke, the Light within him grew and the aura of gold and blue returned. I didn't share this observation with him, and I wonder now if I should do so. Somehow it just doesn't feel like the right time.

I redirect his attention back to my planet and the surrounding stars. "However, now that I'm here, I really want nothing more than to go back home. Odd isn't it? How what we think we want isn't really what is meant for us."

"You've grown wise," he murmurs softly. "The Force is with you."

I swat at him from my seat. "Knock that off. I told you, I am not a Jedi, nor would I make a good Jedi. You can be all the Jedi for both of us."

He grins knowingly and I'm again taken aback by his casual charm. "Whatever you say, Jazz."

"Enough of that. Remind me again what I need to tell the Counsel to do to continue the rains? I want to make sure we can survive now that our primary water supply is off to save the galaxy."

The engineer within him chirps to life. "First," he intones, "they need to purchase an electrostatic generator. It cannot be one of the common ones, it has to be configured for hydrodynamics..."

I let him drone on while he carries us into the stars, allowing myself to relax and enjoy his company. I will myself to live in the moment, as the thought of losing him might tear me apart.

Sadly, the time passes quickly and we land on a large, deserted island within the vast ocean of the planet Ahch-To. I help him to unload all the foodstuffs and supplies and offer to assist him in carrying them up the narrow and winding stair path, but he declines.

Emotion hovers in the damp mist and I know it is time for me to leave.

"Must you do this alone?" My words choke in my throat and tears well within my eyes.

"Jas'kah," he says, pulling me close. "I will be with you soon. You have my word."

"I'll miss you."

"I know." He holds me tight and I lift my face to him and we kiss as if we will never do so again. I can feel his need, the passion for me and the hints of genuine love interspersed within. It is a moment I know I will recall many times in the future.

When we break apart, there are tears in his eyes as well. He reaches into his pocket and hands me something. It is a small metal data storage unit. "A man is going to come for this. He will be older and go by the name of Lor San Tekka. But when you meet him, he will say only that he is a disciple. When he arrives, give this to him."

I study the small drive in my palm. "What is it?"

"A way to stack the sabbac deck in our favor. This should help to ensure that this new Force user will find her way to me. And..." his voice lessens to a murmur. "... it might be a way for me to rejoin my family. Just in case."

"I'll keep it safe until I see this man of yours."

He pulls me tight to him again. "I will send a transmission through the ship's computer if I need anything. The ship is rigged to follow two separate homing devices - one here and one on your planet. You remember what I showed you on how to activate the computer within the ship to track to them?"

I nod.

"Good. I don't expect to need anything - I don't anticipate being here all that long." He pauses and takes a long, ragged breath. "You need to leave now," he says quietly. "Because the longer you're here, the harder it is going to be for me to let you go."

I say nothing, I just let the tears stream down my face. _My man in black...gone._

"Go," he says sternly. "Go now." He turns away from me and I can feel his anguish. But I know it is time, so I do ask he asks.

The ship has already been programmed and I do little more than push a blinking yellow button before it lifts itself into the sky and carries me away. I cry for the majority of the two days it takes to return to my planet, finally reaching a state of emotional acceptance somewhere amongst the stars. I tell myself that I will see him again, and I feel the pull of confirmation within the Light he calls The Force. I repeat this mantra until I believe it to be true. I resolve myself to remain true to who I am - Luke wouldn't want me to do any less. I have my business to run, and Sorani's first child is on the way. There is also the arrival of this strange Lor San Tekka. Maybe he can fill me in on what this Awakening is and what it means for the future of our galaxy.

For now, I will wait. And I will hope.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Occasionally when I write, a story will get away from me and I'll spend a great deal of time running my fingers through my hair and murmuring, "Wow, this is a helluva thing..."

That is what happened here. This is one helluva fic. I don't have much more to say about it - other than I hope you enjoyed it. All mistakes are mine - please let me know if you see anything glaring. I am lacking a beta for this fandom.

On a positive note, if all goes well in my writing world, we'll see Jas'kah again in a future fic I have planned. Luke and Rey need to get off that ridiculous island.

The $50,000 Question Of The Day: _"Is Jas'kah human?"_

Don't ask me because honestly, I don't know. She's clearly humanoid, but...a human? Let me know how you interpreted her - I'm curious what you readers believe her to be.


End file.
